


New Family

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Past Abuse, Reader is Gender Neutral/Coded as Trans, Tactile Assurances, The human had a shitty fam but now theyre good, War is now here chapter 2 friends, comfort cuddles, lmao War aint even here hes just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: The human is still getting used to the idea of being safe and in an environment with people who actually care about them while the horseman try their best to figure out why that makes them cryYou're all learning





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen if y'all thought my first fic back from the grave would be anything but hurt/comfort I have some news for you, and it's that I love comfort fics. 
> 
> Surprise. 
> 
> Reader comes from a bad home this time around (I kept it vague but it's implied to be stemming from transphobia) so be warned!! 
> 
> War technically isn't in this one but if someone wants a part 2 for War's reaction I'd oblige 
> 
> Thank you!!

 Fear and family aren't meant to coincide.

  
Even the Horsemen seem to know that.

  
They treat each other roughly, sure, and sometimes they're meaner than you'd like to one another, but no one's ever truly threatened. Even Strife, who butts heads with his siblings on a near daily basis and only seems to actually like hanging out with you, is never afraid of them leaving or hurting him.

  
And that's...

  
Wonderful, on the one hand, and terrible on the other because it puts your home life into perspective.

  
It's also terrible because of how the human body, your body, reacts to being out of that situation. You don't mean to start crying first thing in the morning when you hear Strife yell "don't be a fucking idiot again! Watch your back!" Only Strife can make that sound affectionate.

  
He's yelling at War, no doubt, who got injured on his last mission and was very adamant only you got to see the true extent of his injuries. They healed much quicker than yours would have, and he was never in danger of dying, but his siblings heckled him nonetheless. Because they care about him, and they worry when he's hurt, and that's how it _should_ be.

  
You can't remember what you dreamed of, or if that's partially to blame for your precarious emotional state, but you do know Strife expressing concern for his brother has you sobbing. You feel silly and happy and so so thankful to be here with them and you also feel like you just got punched in the chest by how horrible it was before.

  
Your blanket is too warm for you now, but you can't get the energy up to try and stop your tears, let alone fix your bedding. Absently, you know there's gonna be hell to pay when/if one of your Horsemen find you in such a state, but you can't really find it within yourself to care.

  
The Four Horsemen of the apocalypse make a more loving family than your own.

  
That's fucking hilarious.

  
(or maybe heartbreaking, some other part of you says)

  
You can't decide if it's the worst or the best part that they also consider you now a part of their family. You love them, you do, but there's... Fear. There's some insistent voice saying you don't deserve this or anything like this because of the way you are.

  
And you hate that you think that way. If they heard that ever put to words they would be livid. They would go back down to Earth just to make sure your previous family is not one of humans being reborn from Death's sacrifice.

  
You wonder how your human family would react to the Horsemen coming to extract revenge. They'd be afraid, no doubt, but would they realize it's just? Would they know... would they finally admit they're wrong?

  
This thought brings a fresh bought of tears, because you know. You know how abusers work and that they would never see what they did to you as "wrong".

  
But that's okay. Because War would, and Death and Fury and Strife.

  
As if to prove that point, your bedroom doors cracks against the wall as Death enters (he's blurry, on account of your tears, but their color schemes are distinct enough that you can tell the difference). You can't really make out an expression, but something about the way he moves towards the bed makes you think he's angry.

  
(And for a second you think _at you_ and everything hurts oh god what did you do now why is he angry how can we make it better oh-god-oh-god-ohgodohgodohgod)

  
But then he pulls you into his arms, against his chest and tucked under his chin. Comforting. He still doesn't like making eye contact during emotional moments. His masklessness is both a sign of self forgiveness and a major vulnerability after so long.

  
Dust joins the two of you too, and it occurs to you that he probably tipped Death off. The bird has a tendency to stick near by in the mornings, taking advantage of your sleepiness to get extra scraps of food and pets. For now, he settles somewhat in your lap, pressing himself against your stomach and making growly noises that vibrate his entire frame.

  
"Who did this?" Death's voice is clipped, dripping with barely contained malice.

  
You laugh. It's a bad sound, mixed with crying as it is, and Death tightens his hold on you. "I just. I can't believe I'm here and I'm safe and you guys like me?" The words are slurred and tripping over one another, but your disbelief shines through.

  
"Why..." Death starts, still angry, still protective, but maybe a bit more confused.

  
You don't have the mental or emotional capacity to explain right now, but you know you'll have to. Or at least enough to explain why you're crying. You can't imagine any of them actually making you talk about past trauma.

  
Death sighs when you don't answer, but he doesn't press the issue. He simply settles down further into your bed, allowing you all the time you need to calm. Your crying and Dust's growling seem to die down in tandem, the bird only relaxing when you do.

  
He's family too, you think.

  
Death doesn't let you go even after you've got yourself semi under control (semi because it feels like you could start again at the drop of a hat), nor do you actually try to get up. You should, because it's probably long past breakfast time at this point, but you can't find it within yourself to get up.

  
"Hey." You say, voice cracking worse than a seventh grader.

  
"Hey." Death replies dryly.

  
"I love you."

  
He laughs, shifting so he can see your face (and wipe away the tear tracks, but if you mention that to anyone he'll probably let Dust make a bed out of your favorite shirt). "Are you... better?" The hesitancy is what gets you.

  
"I'm getting there?" You decide after a moment, reaching up to hug him properly. It's an awkward angle, and Dust squawks in annoyance (he doesn't seem motivated enough to actually move), but Death returns the gesture.

  
There's more than enough time to hear another approach this time around, but like Dust, you're not quite ready to move. You continue to cling onto Death even when he shifts to look at the door over your shoulder.

  
"You've been--" Fury's already worried voice cuts off, followed by a clinking noise you've come to associate with her tapping her claws together. "Is something wrong?" She asks.

  
"'m fine." You make a vague motion over your shoulder, not bothering to remove your face from Death's collarbone area. You can't remember the technical name for it.

  
She hums. "Liar."

  
She settles down next to the two of you, and you're abruptly thankful they gave you a Horseman bed and not a human one. You can't imagine anything crafted by humans could stand up to having a full grown adult and two nephilim on it (regardless that they are the two smaller nephilim).

  
She drags her claws through your hair, trying to straighten out the knots formed by sleep and crying. "Would you like to talk about it? Or are you simply clinging to Death because he's feeling affectionate?"

  
You can practically feel Death rolling his eyes.

  
"Love you," You say, reaching back to grab her hand.

  
She, like her brother, laughs. "And I you. Strife made you, and himself, of course, some breakfast. Are you well enough to stand? Or should I carry you?" Her voice takes on a teasing edge, her arms slipping around your waist, under Death's.

  
The older Horseman seems to have no problem with it, releasing you after a moment of debate. You still remain in his lap, but he shifts backwards enough that you can't press yourself against him without outright laying on top of him. Annoying.

  
You huff, allowing Fury to pull you out of her brothers lap and into a princess carry. She stands up with no difficulty, despite the human now in her arms, and says, "Strife will be out for blood when he sees your face."

  
"Bathroom." You motion.

  
Fury walks you over there and you can hear her chat with Death as you use it, spending an extra few minutes trying to fix your hair and... face. Like in its entirety. Just your whole goddamn face. You can't really fix bloodshot eyes in less than five minutes though, and if he sent Fury to get you, clearly Strife is anxious for you to try whatever he's made.

  
He's a good cook. Sometimes he gets too... excited about seasoning, or he gets impatient and amps up the heat only to scorch something, but it's better than what his siblings have managed. Death still doesn't like human food, and Fury is so meticulous she gets caught up in following the directions and not the food. War only cooks when you're there with him, and no one else is around to hear the biggest and baddest horseman get lessons from a tiny human.

  
Fury scoops you back up after you've gotten dressed, but she only really smiles when you lean over to kiss her cheek.   
Death is still perched on your bed, glancing over your room as if that will give him clarity into why you were crying. He follows the two (or three, if you count the bird flying in front) of you out after a moment, not at all casually sticking close to you.

  
He's worried.

  
Or maybe just still angry towards the undisclosed party that made you cry.

  
Fury sets you down on the kitchen counter rather than on a stool, facing Strife's back as he finishes up what looks and smells like one of the best solo meals he's made yet. "Ya got the brat?"

  
"They got the brat." You answer, voice a little more level than anticipated.

  
Still not level enough to stop Strife from whirling around quick enough to give a human whiplash, his magic flaring dangerously. It's enough to make your skin prickle.

  
His eyes sweep your figure, checking for injuries before apparently deducting its an emotional thing that has you fucked up.

  
And then, in a Strife typical "action now ask questions later" fashion, he wraps his arms around you. It's a practiced movement, one that you've experienced many times before. There's comfort in the repetition as you tangle one hand in his hair and bury your face in his neck. The fact that he lets you so close to his neck is a comfort too, knowing that it's a rarity to trust someone enough to allow them near such a weak point in nephilim culture (Strife is the most willing to, while Death and Fury still get a little tense even when they allow it. War prefers to be the one at your throat, and although you trust him implicitly, his sharp sharp teeth against your pulse point make you all the more aware of why they are the way they are).

  
Strife lets you cling for an indeterminate amount of time, long enough for his siblings to make themselves coffee but not for your hands to stop shaking. Long enough that you feel like maybe you're a bother but not enough to will yourself to let go.

  
Even when he pulls away it's not quite "away". He rests his forehead against yours, eyes gleaming. "Who did this?"

  
The same exact question that Death asked. Huh. 

  
"No one. Not anyone that matters any more." You huff.

  
Strife blinks, eyes roaming your face for something. What, you don't really know, by certainly something. "If they don't matter how can they hurt you?"

  
...

  
A fair point. "They used to matter. And I still get upset because they should've... been different. They should've been more like you, and Death and Fury and War. And it's hard because sometimes I don't feel worthy of being here now, somewhere where people love me and respect me, and because sometimes it's just like. I missed out on a lot when I was younger because I was living in fear of my own family." And it sucks. It sucks knowing that you could've had a good family from the beginning.

 

Strife does a great job of remaining gentle as he wipes away the fresh tears despite the fact you can feel his magic crackling with anger. Death and Fury are both better at controlling it but you can feel them too, one cold and precise while the other is smooth and sharp.

 

The sharp one wraps her arms around your waist, pressing herself against your side. "You deserve every bit if affection we give and more."

  
"Yeah, not like we're real experienced with humans' needs," By "needs" you're pretty sure Strife means your desire for cuddles and emotional support. You suppose after living for thousands of years it would seem odd that you get touch starved after only a few weeks. Or days, depending. (But not odd enough to protest. In fact, you're ninety eight percent certain they appreciate it just as much as you do)

  
"But we try our best," He continues, lowering his face to your shoulder. As if he's tired or something. You roll your eyes amusedly as you bring one hand up to his hair, untangling the knots. You doubt he bothered to do it earlier this morning, the slob.

  
"You're doing wonderfully." You say, relaxing further against him. You don't really need to keep yourself upright or anything. Strife can hold your weight without breaking a sweat. (But one of your favorite times is when he acts like he can't in the most dramatic way possible)

"So." Something about Death's tone makes you weary. "Who's going to tell War?" 


	2. now with more War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rot ur teeth out fluff now w 100% more War

War pays more attention than most give him credit for.

  
You're sprawled across Strife, who's sprawled across the couch, when he gets home. He's still bloody and gross from whatever Death had him doing when he stomps on into the living room, but it looks like he at least tried to brush himself off a little.

  
He pauses when he sees the two of you, eyes narrowing.  
You know that he knows even as he continues walking to his room to get all the blood off.

  
"You're in trouble." Strife says, singsong and all too smug.

  
"Me? I'm the one that was crying. If anything you and your siblings are going to be in trouble." You respond.

  
Strife tenses up like you've shot him, while you reluctantly get to your feet and rub at your eyes. You were originally going to play something co-op with Strife, but somehow he ended up convincing you that watching him fail at oblivion would be more entertaining (admittedly, it was). He played most of the day, with you taking over when he went to go make lunch and when he got too frustrated trying to sneak.

  
War's mission was a short one this time, meaning you don't really have to wonder how he knows you were upset. There's probably still physical evidence from this morning.

  
You huff as you step over the cord to Strife's controller. "I'm gonna go make sure War doesn't murder anyone."

  
"While you do that, I'm gonna murder someone." He replies flippantly.

  
_Of course_.

  
War is still in the bathroom when you get to his room, knocking on the door frame to announce yourself on the way in. Not that he particularly minds you barging into his room. The two of you formed a rather unique relationship during your travels together.

  
You throw yourself into his bed dramatically, burying your face in the furs before flipping over onto your back. "War!"

  
You hear something that vaguely sounds like your name come from the bathroom before the door is opened. "We will speak after I get the blood out of my hair."

  
"That's fine." You hum.

  
You don't bother to look up and see him inspecting you so much as you feel it. And know it. War is rather predictable, at least for you. The door doesn't close again, but you hear the water turn back on.

  
He returns in less time than it takes you to type out a response to one of the few friends you've got post apocalypse (getting wifi in the horsemen's realm was a real experience).

  
War is gentle, but not in a porcelain doll kind of way. He's gentle in the sense he won't ever hurt you. He will, still drape himself over you as if you're more comfortable than the actual bed. Heavy bastard.

  
He rests his head on your shoulder, face pressed against the hollow under your collarbone. You lift the opposite hand to run your fingers through his mildly damp hair. How a nephilim that never fucking conditions has silkier hair than you is beyond human comprehension.

  
"Why are you upset?" He asks after a moment.

  
"I'm not. Or. I'm not anymore. I was, but Death and Strife both cuddled me, and Fury carried me to the kitchen so. That's sort of like cuddling I suppose." You ramble a bit, probably because of how uncomfy this conversation makes you. Talking about your feelings? Gross. 

  
He tilts his face up to fix you with a look that would make lesser humans cower. "Why were you upset?"

  
You expected this, yes, but you'd rather move past it than reiterate what you already said to Death.

  
But War is warm and his presence sets you at ease enough to make you talk. His hair is fine as fishing wire between your fingers as you explain, "I was... when Strife told you to be careful I just remembered that we're a family and that... I love you, and you love me, and... my family before wasn't like that."

  
He doesn't verbally reply, but his neck tenses and he takes a deep breath.

  
"They didn't... accept me. They weren't the type to tell me to be safe when I went out, or worry when I was injured or anything like that. I was always a burden, or too much, or just... not what they wanted. And being here with you is amazing."

  
"I dragged you through hell on a quest for revenge and you still call me amazing." He says, amusement shinning through his anger.

  
"I said being here is amazing, but I also consider you amazing." You hum. "And unfairly pretty for the biggest and strongest nephilim."

  
He laughs. "You are surprisingly strong for a small and pretty human."

  
What a fucking _nerd_.

  
"I love you." You say quietly.

  
"I love you as well." He says it matter-of-fact. Leaving no room for stressing over whether or not he really means it. He does. "And if you'd like, I will help you seek vengeance as well."

  
What a _War_ thing to follow a declaration of love with.

  
You snort laugh, tilting your face into the pillow. "I don't think it'll do much good."

  
"Would it do you good?" He asks.

  
You take a deep breath and consider the question. "...no. I want them to live with themselves. I want the guilt to eat them alive when they realize that I'm the Savior. I'm the human who helped save humanity, who lives with the four horsemen."

Maybe that's vindictive of you, maybe it's cruel, but that's what they deserve. You want them to be around to see you flourish.

  
War makes a growly noise that mixes oddly with his laughter. He picks his face up, looking at you directly. "You're ruthless." He says.

  
"I grant no quarter." You agree, moving to cup his face between your (comparatively comically small) hands. You would kiss his forehead if he weren't laying on top of you. There's little hope that you can make him move too.

  
So for now you just settle deeper into the bed, relishing in the warmth that seeps from War. He's all hard muscle (and metal, given his arm, although he can take that off), and the heat to almost too much, but it's... War.

  
"Death was the one who found me. I think Dust ratted me out." You say conversationally.

  
"Did Death also threaten to kill your family?" He asks it like he knows the answer but wants to make a point.

  
"Of course." You respond. "So did the others. Strife was sorta upset I decided today was the day I had a Moment (tm) though."

  
"Tm," He repeats, shaking his head. You're pretty sure his favorite part of the revival is that now he can actually understand your jokes. His hands aren't exactly made for web searching, but sometimes you'll be on your phone or laptop while sitting in War's lap. His understanding of memes is basic at best, but he does know enough to have favorites (and there's nothing like a thousands of years old nephilim snort laughing over silly shit like that).

  
"Yeah, Strife made some really good breakfast for the both of us. It was cold when I calmed down enough to eat but still yummy." You would pat your stomach if not for the fact a who knows how many pound horseman is functioning as your blanket.

  
"Anything else happen while I was fighting demons?" His voice changes when he's sleepy. Less precise. More mushed syllables and rumbly noises that they all seem to make. Strife outright growls sometimes when things don't go the way he wants, and the three younger Horsemen will very rarely make a noise sort of like a purr when you play with their hair or cuddle them. Death seems to be the most adverse to being like that.

  
"Strife is playing more elder scrolls and he sucks. It's hilarious, I love him." You smile.

  
War puts his face back down, closing his eyes. "Mhm."

  
You continue to explain why he sucks, including his atrocious stat decisions and his insistence on fighting every single thing, ignoring that Oblivions leveling system is terrible. War listens to you ramble until he gets tired enough to want to actually relax. He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him. You yank up the blanket before getting yourself comfortable as well, because without the mattress to trap in the heat your back is left cold.

  
"Bed time?" You ask.

  
War gives a sleepy reply that sounds nothing like English, and you take that as a yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to explain why he needs to move when he actually wants to sleep,, he's like. Extremely heavy so he's not putting his full weight on ya at any time. hes basically planking 85% of this chapter just so he can cuddle the human 
> 
> Ive said it before and ill say it again, War is a big nerd 
> 
> thats just Facts my friends.
> 
> Anyways y'all asked for this and I delivered  
> happy early Halloween give ur local witch a smooch
> 
> edit for minor spelling things that bothered me: june 19 2018


End file.
